


The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower

by FenixDown



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Other, Porn with Feelings, SRSLY IM BAD WITH TAGS, Secret Relationship, but god if caduceus dont own his ass, im terrible with tags, intersex caduceus clay, mollymauk tealeaf is a top leaning switch, there we go theres some tags jfc, why is there a virgin caduceus tag let him fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenixDown/pseuds/FenixDown
Summary: Mollymauk finds the celestine and the divine between Caduceus's thighs.





	The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower

**Author's Note:**

> For a friend, whose depiction and description of Caduceus Clay destroys me daily. All headcanons are his, Im just here to make love to Caduceus Clay with Molly's mouth, aight

Molly’s rapping the table with the side of the card he’s ready to throw, a frantic impatience telegraphed in the erratic strikes and the drags against the grain of the wood that sound the way a jagged knife feels. He breaks the freneticism with infrequent occasion, to tuck a dark purple lock away and worry the curve of his jeweled ear in thought, but he’s back to the percussive agitation soon enough. 

He’s ahead in the game, and anyone watching him would find it curious that he exhibits such irritable nervousness when winning a fat reticule of gold is only a few hands away. But no one knows that upstairs waits a firbolg with the patience of a stone, whose nightly kisses are more sacred to him than any victory, paltry or profound. 

It had been just before midnight when Caduceus quietly gave up on the tavern’s company, his tail disentangling itself from Molly’s beneath the table, leaving him with a simple lacking he’s grown to dislike. He’d granted him a chaste kiss between his brows as he left, a benediction no one thinks twice to mark anymore. Not between a tiefling and a firbolg who display uncommon levels of affection with a simple systematicity that becomes quickly commonplace. Even Jester’s stopped taking note of who kisses whom and how and why and where. It’s a tentative reprieve of peace and privacy, and one Molly treasures more than the salient silver-tongued tiefling could ever put into words. 

His opponent finally makes a choice, lays down a knave that has no hope of beating the triumvirate of kings he fans out like a peacock’s tail. Molly’s lopsided smile is the only herald to his triumph, and he snatches up his earnings with a bow of his head and a rush of footsteps to the stairs, caring little to hide the eagerness with which he makes his escape.

In their shared room above the tavern, silence reigns. The noise and tumult below is a distant echo muffled beneath the floorboards, an entire world away. The candles are nearly down to their wicks, illuminating the room in a preternatural glow. Molly spies the prone form of Caduceus, hair spilling over his shoulders and down the perfect slope of his back, as fine and bright as candy-floss. It flutters his heart with a foolish excitement when he sees Cad raise his head at the sound of the disturbance, and turn to regard him over his shoulder with the languor of an empress. His gaze is heavy-lidded with sleep, the bright of his eyes dimmed and dulled in the low light, but Molly can feel their focus on him, as acutely as a blade.

Cad’s head lowers, as if in relief of his presence. As if he’d been expecting him. His head rests back onto the pillow, eyes watching Molly over the peak of his shoulder. Without word, his hips rise like the breaking sun, slow and certain, and Molly stills watching the sheets fall away like garlands where they adorn Cad’s slender legs. His cunt is a revelation, a shock of pale pink within heart of his dusky thighs, and Molly lets out a voiceless swear, breathless with wonder, when at last he can shake himself of the aesthetic arrest that binds him unmoving, as he watches rapt, just beyond the threshold of the door. 

It’s an invitation he doesn’t think twice about accepting. 

Molly crawls upon the bed with a tentative measure and Caduceus does not move, and allows the hands that alight upon his thighs. Molly does not fail to note when the firbolg lets out a sigh when a thumb parts his cinereal lips, to display the clandestine shell-pink within. His head inclines as a reverent’s might, mouth whispering the name of the Moonweaver in an invocation like a vow, in promise and in praise. For what boon is this, but a holy blessing? And only then does he allow himself to kiss the basilica of his cunt, his tongue seeking the saint inside, anointing his mouth in the slick of Cad’s lips to draw the name of the sacrosanct from his lungs. 

Cad emits a series of soft little sounds, sighs of repletion and completion both, as delicate as the elaborate volutes Molly weaves against his cunt with his tongue. And O, how Molly loves the descant of Cad’s pleasure from his mouth’s supplications, encourages the sweet suspires with a sure, slick tongue whose only avocation now, it would seem, is the indulgence of this divinity.

He tastes not of the sugared, saccharine-sweetness of candies and confections. There’s a depth to him that Molly can’t quite name, but it reminds him of the fraicheur of mint after a rainfall and the earthiness of petrichor, with heart notes dark and cloying, like honeyed violets and lavender and honeysuckle, that snake and surge and swell in turn. Caduceus is a delicacy he lauds with eulogy of his mouth, and Molly licks the sweetness from his lips with a tongue that lingers reverently upon his own lips, as if he were receiving a holy consecration. 

“Wait,” and Cad’s voice is a ghost from over his shoulder. Molly’s attuned to the sound of it, and at the request, he stops as though it were a command. He straightens upon his knees, watches as the firbolg pushes himself up upon the prop of his elbows, turning himself around to his side, enough to kiss Molly’s aching cock through the fabric of his breeches. 

Molly’s head tips back, lolls to the side, and all that Caduceus can see is the apex of his lavender chin pointed to the rafters, where Molly directs his moans, harsh and hoarse in the stillness of the night air. His fingers sift softly through Cad’s roseate hair, round the curve of his head to press decisively below the base of his skull to pull him into the press of his hips. Memory lives voltaic in his skin, and his cock remembers the silken warmth of that mouth so acutely that the dulled sensation strikes unsatisfactory to him, and only stokes his acuminate need.

Cad’s tongue licks adamantly at the head of his cock, his hand now joining in the ministrations to grasp him through the fabric of his breeches. Molly’s attention snaps back to watch the firbolg jerk him off through his pants, and stars, if he isn’t exquisite on his hands and knees, the stunning slope of his spine painted in the spill of his hair. 

Molly’s too aware of when Cad’s hand drops away, and his eyes follow the drift of it between the spread of his legs. He leans over to observe its purpose, only to find Caduceus’ slender fingers spreading the lips of his cunt like the petals of a bloom, to allow the slip of his own finger inside him. Molly lets out a protracted, voiceless sigh, smooth in spite of the spiking, splintering arousal that threads exhilarant through his nerves, bringing him dangerously close to a precipice he’s not ready to cross yet.

He slips a hand beneath Cad’s cygnet throat, cradling it gently in the curve of his palm. Fingertips and the heel of his hand couch him firmly, hold him still as his hips pull away enough for him to undo his breeches and pull his cock free. Cad watches with a beatific expression that’s expectant and expected, his mouth opening obediently to reveal a silken tongue that looks too beautiful not to nestle his cock.

So he guides Cad forward into the push of his hips, his hand tightening around his throat as he does, feeding his aching cock into the mouth that feels like an antediluvian heaven. Cad’s mouth is poetry when it closes about his length, for all the paens of pleasure it inspires in Molly to whisper canticles to the moon and the Weaver that grants it. 

Caduceus pushes forward, nose buried in the dark purple hair below Molly’s navel, and the tiefling can feel the head of his cock draw along the hard ridge of the roof of Cad’s mouth. He sighs through the rippling pleasure it brings in disparate waves he can’t possibly brace himself against, and laughs with a delight that feels like peace. 

His hand swats at Cad’s ass, brushing his tail away as he bends to watch the elegant fingers that still assail his cunt. He brushes those away, too, and the firbolg’s slit drips like a honeycomb, a little pool of his arousal dampening the bedsheets. Molly replaces those fingers with two of his own, pushing them inside him with a proprietary purpose, slow and sure and unquestioning.

Caduceus gasps and Molly watches as every muscle in the beautiful curvature of his back tenses, arching to push his hips up. His fingers are not so long as Cad’s, though decidedly thicker, but he knows that Cad’s present pleasure is solely due to the idea of Molly’s fingers inside him. Slowly do his fingers part, to open Cad’s stunning cunt. He holds him there, patient for that release when Cad becomes accustomed to the stretch and Molly can see the systematic surrender of every inch of tension throughout his body. 

And only then does he guide his cock within him. 

Cad keens softly, head tipping back before it drops to muffle his cries against the pillow he embraces under his chin. He breathes through the slow ingress of Molly’s hardness, who takes his time to let Cad feel every inch of his length slide inside him. 

“Oh, you stunning creature,” Molly adores, sighing profoundly, with a voice as soft as eiderdown. He rescinds his fingers from the warmth of his cunt, smooths his hands over Cad’s slender hips and hooks them under the bend of his waist. He pulls him into the press of his own hips, holds him there for what feels like an excruciating and small eternity, until he lets himself fall slowly into the gravity of his own weight, and pushes Cad’s hips down into the mattress.  
An arm immediately slips under Cad’s shoulders, holding him firm. Molly’s teeth catch the nape of Cad’s neck as his other hand slides between the part of Cad’s thighs, palm flush against his clitoris, fingers stroking the spread of his sweet-slicked lips, spread for the fill of his cock. And when the flat of his hand floods with an unmistakable deluge of pleasure, Molly sighs against the shell of his ear as he fucks into him slowly. 

Caduceus’ gasps are soft and pleading, little moans that drive Molly to distraction, as they always do, the eutony of his ecphonesis like a siren’s song to the audience of Molly’s ears. He stares down the crest of his heart-shaped ass, the perfect vale of his spine, and he’s caught with a longing to watch him, to note for himself the stunning gallery of ecstasies his mouth evinces. 

He pulls out just enough, and a rough hand turns Cad on his back, pushes open his thighs. And where he expects to see surprise painted upon a blushing cheek, he finds amethyst eyes hooded with desire, trained upon him with an intent that’s as good as an invitation. And so he falls upon him, his arms twining around him, hands tangling in the cascade of his roseate hair, just at the nape of his neck. And that is where he holds him as he fucks himself desperately into him, his serrated teeth catching the underside of Cad’s jaw as the latter laughs like a sated god as he throws his arms around his scarred shoulders.

“You couldn’t resist, could you?” comes Caduceus’ question, his voice low and velvetine in his ear.

“You?” Molly asks, and he’s breathless, panting through the frenetic and furious thrusts. “Never.” 

Cad laughs again, an arpeggiated sigh so delicate that it sounds like the wind in the stars. His head tips back to reveal the dove-grey column of his swan’s throat, encouraging the kisses Molly mouths hotly along it.

“To kiss me,” Caduceus clarifies, his nails scouring the sinuous sweep of Molly’s spine, drawing a hissing sound as he sucks in a breath through thorn-sharp teeth. “You can never leave off kissing me. Not for very long, at least.” He grins, pretending to bite back a smile. “Or ... this.”

Cad’s raises his hand to his lips, keeps Molly’s gaze as he pushes an elegant finger within the perfect part of his lips and sucks at it, opening his mouth just enough to reveal the artful adoration of his silk-soft tongue upon it. Molly curses at the blessed sight, and again when Cad rounds the callipygian curve of his ass to push the anointed finger inside him.

“Come, starshine,” he urges sweetly, and it’s as good as a bestowment. A benediction. 

Frantic is the stuttering of his hips when Molly comes, lost in a tide of the inevitable and ineludible pleasure that crests and swells and pulls him under. And like a windfall, Cad comes, his thighs tightening around Molly’s waist as he gasps his name like a melody, like a mantra, his voice growing graveled and hoarse with every invocation. 

And when Molly falls boneless upon his lover, spent and stark and prostrate upon him, his lips cannot stem the spate of devotions and rhapsodies he whispers into the hollow of the firbolg’s throat. “Gods, how I love you, how I want you, how I need you,” he sighs, and it’s almost pleading when he does. “My heart’s home and my soul’s desire, you are everything, everything to me.”

Cad laughs, softly this time, craning his head to kiss the base of Molly’s horn. “I think you made that clear enough that everyone on this floor knows it.” His voice is teasing in that good-natured way, but it sits unwell with him nonetheless.

“Will you ever want to tell them?” he asks quietly, his fingers threading affectionately through Molly’s dark hair. “Our friends.”

Molly remains quiet. He wants to tell him that sacred mysteries are not for the uninitiated. Or some stupid quip that deflects from the fact that for all his conspicuous ostentations, for all his peacocking and preening, that there are things he holds close to his chest. That he has to. That Cad is a clandestine secret that he wants all to himself, to share with no other. 

But Caduceus offers no judgment, asks for no verdicts. So Molly keeps his peace, and lays his head upon his narrow shoulder, their chests abutted but their hearts askant. And Molly waits, listens until their syncope slow to sympathy, where silence is the simplest thing between them, besides the wordless affection that only the both of them could possibly understand.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it through that wall of text, you're a hero, wtf this was long .... molly vc: that's what she said
> 
> Send me prompts if you like my wordy bullshit, over on [ my tumblr ](https://feniixdown.tumblr.com/)


End file.
